


Flu

by scattergun



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Shota, Sickfic, Underage - Freeform, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scattergun/pseuds/scattergun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is sick, Bro is interested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eighth_chiharu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/gifts).



> Went a little off-prompt, but I hope I hit the right sort of notes

It started with some sniffles, some tiredness, and well, there you have it: Dave down with a righteous flu. Probably from some snot-nosed brat at his school.

Still, it's not like you really mind. Hours are flexible in the smuppet business and, in your own way, you enjoy this. You're proud of him: while sick he hardly fusses. None of the dramatics one might expect from a seven year old. Maybe he pushes himself a little hard- at his sickest, you'd found him napping on the kitchen floor, Campbell's in the microwave, as if he'd just keeled over from exhaustion. But he's fine. You've taught him how to be independent. Not being stupid about it will come with age.

Currently he's lying down, dozing on and off as he watches cartoons and rides out the flu's last throes. You've inserted yourself at the end of the futon so his head's in your lap.

You card your fingers through the soft white ruffles of his hair, wondering what you can get away with. Gradually your touches grow more affectionate, from touching his hair to the nape of his neck to caressing his jaw.

He stirs.

"M'sick, bro." He mumbles, sounding sleepy and a little uncertain. He's turned himself a little to look at you out of the corner of his eye. Red and red-rimmed, not from crying but just from sick. Bleary. His hair is sticking up in unruly tufts and he looks like some kind of stupid baby bird, which is quite frankly adorable.

"It'll make you feel better," you reply, intent solidifying.

He just lets his head fall back into your lap with a tiny groan: not quite a protest. So you gently pull him up to sit with his back against your chest, then do the majority of the work wrangling his shirt off. He's small and fits neatly in your lap.

Sickness-worn, he hardly fidgets or tenses: you don't as much physically see his nervousness as you intuit it, which, in any case, is fair enough. It hasn't been long since you started this with him. A week, maybe, not counting months of one-sided, barely-there flirtation; just enough to get the idea under his skin.

He had still been confused at first, but now he doesn't resist as you push his pajama pants down, and when you cup his boyish cock in your hand he no longer looks at you as if for answers. Just shivers.

"You cold?"

"...Sorta," he replies, in that child-cute voice.

Honestly, you'd asked him on a whim, and making him put on his shirt again would feel kind of silly. Instead you pull a blanket (felt-like, warm) from underneath the bed.

"Alright, let's get cozy up in here."

You wrap the blanket around the both of you, securely ensconcing him. You can feel his body heat and yeah, damn straight it's cozy.

You hold him close with your left arm, trailing your right hand down his chest. You can't see his body now, or what your hands are up to, and it's not that you didn't appreciate that view, god no. But with the way you're sitting now, you could just be two brothers cuddling, only you and he knowing how you're touching him. Some kind of hypothetical, of course, you wouldn't risk something public- but the thought rouses something in you, nonetheless.

You caress him a while longer, keeping him in suspense- you touched his dick once, and you finish what you start; but the question is when. He leans further into you for warmth or maybe comfort, exhaling when you brush your thumb over one of his nipples.

You trail your hand down further. When you touch the tender inner side of his thigh he clenches them together briefly, ticklish, but you know he wants this as much as you do because he spreads his legs right after.

"Good boy," you mumble into his hair, loud enough for him to hear, and wrap your hand around him. He whines low in his throat, half-heartedly wriggling his hips forward. You both know you set the pace.

A few more teasing touches- your thumb brushing across the corona of his glans, then sliding over the slit- and you start giving him a handjob in earnest. Steady pace, steady pressure. He gasps. So easy to please. He's already getting noisy, not in volume but in frequency, whining and moaning, breath hitching audibly. You know it's not on purpose: you'd had him straddle you once, then coaxed every noise out of him as carefully as you could, and he'd been flushed cherry-red with embarrassment, looking about ready to cry. You up the pace.

"Bro-" he throws his head back against your chest and tries to thrust into your hand, even as your other arm holds him in close. "Bro-"

And _god_ , desperation looks good on him. You adjust the position of your hips, knowing he can feel your cock through your pants. You want him completely, all of him, as his first his only his everything. Him stretched open for you, fucked half-delirious... But now isn't the time, and you pull on the pride you take in your self-control to tamp down on your desire.

He's close, almost sobbing as he repeats himself, _Bro, Bro, Bro_. You brush your lips against his neck and continue stroking him, patient even as his movements turn frantic.

He comes dry but you know when he does- he shudders and shakes and his movements slow until he's still. You take your hand off him and pull his pants back up around his waist, then pull the both of you down so he's lying on top of you. God knows you're still riled up, but you're a patient man, and so you just hold him in silence and pat his back soothingly as the heat ebbs out of you.

You lie like that until Dave dozes off, then get up to leave. You've got things to do.


End file.
